An Inevitability
by Sleeping Sailboats
Summary: A tragedy, one would say. They preferred to call it an inevitability. Coin/Snow, and how their marriage was doomed from the start.


It had been over a dinner of lobster that they had mumbled in agreement to divorce. Often she would wish it had been a more significant event in her life, seeing as it had been the day a white flag had been raised, hovering over their marriage of thirty-six years. But it had happened like a small mishap between roommates. The topic had been brought up—how, she forgot—and there had been a slight pause.

"A divorce?"

"That would be nice."

"Oh, alright then. Pass the butter, will you?"

Their two children had taken it rather well, due to their adulthood and the fact that they and all of Panem had seen it coming. Over the past few years, whispers had been traded among friends as they watched the annual televised address to the nation. Year by year, the literal gap between them had grown, until they were practically on opposite ends of the frame. At one point, he had stopped addressing her as his wife, and instead as "Mrs. Coin."

A tragedy, one would say.

They preferred to call it an inevitability.

At some point in the process of divorce, one of the spouses is expected to feel a twinge of regret, to look at their wedding photos and think, "What _happened_?" But this was necessary for neither of them, for they knew exactly what had happened.

Rumor had it that Coin used to be a socialite, and this rumor proved to be pure fact. It had been one of the reasons she had kept her name—a way of maintaining just a fragment of her old identity. If she closed her eyes and thought hard enough, she could remember the ball gowns, the glasses of champagne that people would insist weren't getting them drunk, the jazz music cascading through glittering rooms. In fact, it had been at one of her famous parties that she had met Snow. Opposites sure did attract, at least back then.

She had liked his tough demeanor; he had liked her carefree one. He proposed after three months. The phrase, "Too soon," was an understatement, although the marriage had lasted quite a while. But nonetheless, it came to an end, something she had realized would happen about twenty years in.

By then, she was obviously not the same woman she had been when they married, the children and her aging having to do with it, as well as the fact that Snow's thirst for leadership had been rubbed onto her, bruising every bit of her with the desire to control, to demand, to be needed by people that didn't want to need her, for they feared her.

An old friend of hers that had been her maid of honor at the wedding had visited two weeks after their twentieth anniversary to congratulate them, as she had been too ill to make it to their party. It had only taken fifteen minutes after her arrival to say, "You've changed, darling Al," and leave. From an outside view, her statement and departure could have been considered rude, but for Coin, it was a much-needed warning.

The question, "What _happened_?" wasn't asked after their decision to divorce, but rather throughout their marriage. Instead of looking at wedding photos, she would gaze with longing at montages of her extravagant galas, her clinking glasses with friends, dancing with a handsome man she had met that night, laughing over caviar with her brother.

What had _happened _to the Coin with glossy hair, glowing skin, a laugh that warmed the hearts of many? How had her seemingly-permanent smile disappeared into a neutral line, conveying not the slightest emotion?

And _how _had she become such a monster?

It was him.

Him, him, him.

"It's not always just one person's fault," they say. "Both spouses contributed something to the downfall of the marriage." Liars! Such liars! It was _his _fault! Every fight, every tear, every empty conversation had been all because of _him_. He had ruined her. He had taken her former image, the one she adored and missed, and torn it into pitiful little pieces.

And what had she done to him? Nothing! She had stood by his side, looking into the camera with hollow eyes as the despicable man she called her husband droned on about how Panem was flourishing. At one point, she stopped listening to a word he said. She had done _nothing _to him. She let him be the grand old President Snow, the man all of Panem looked to for mercy and a light to follow. Not once had she tried to take that from him.

So they finished their dinner, and the next day they filed for a quick and simple divorce, the pre-nuptial agreement serving them well. The day they were supposed to sign their papers was marked on her calendar and circled like a best friend's birthday, looming there, filling her with anticipation every time she saw the date.

But despite being angry at what he had made her, she knew there was no going back to the socialite Coin, or maybe even a relatively normal Coin. This was who she was now: A leader.

Finding District 13 wasn't easy, but once she did, the first thing she noticed was their desperate need for leadership. Or maybe she hadn't noticed their need, but created one. Once she had replayed for them all the televised addresses, 13 saw how the rest of Panem was living (not fairly well, but better than them), and they agreed one was necessary.

She was someone now, and that was far better from being no one, no matter how much she now hated this someone.

President Coin of District 13.

The day arrived, and they didn't waste time.

She mentioned nothing of her new job, only that she would be leaving the manor in a week. Pages ruffled, pens scratched against paper, and they even shook hands, because why the hell not.

He said, "Good luck."

She said, "Go to hell."

And then President Snow and President Coin parted ways, now allowed to be power-hungry monsters on their own.


End file.
